Category Archives: Maebaleia/Satori^^

flutterbys (red, blonde, and blue)

She was in Between and she had to stare at it. The chair would face no other way. Turtle Hill, or, in olden days, Turtle Butte. Before the terraforming messed up the mesa effect and made it round and soft instead of square and rough. The center of the Maebaleia continent, some say, yea, some call it the center of *everything*, with religious overtones implied. And perhaps it was. In olden days again. Nowadays these Hills of Bill are emptied out of meaning, devoid of framework, like a void picture in a gallery of no design or wealth.

She sat reading a fashion and furniture magazine in her new-ish apartment in Squared Root City, waiting for Starlight to open so she could peruse the clothing again for that interview over at the fire station this afternoon. Because she considered herself to be one hot item and had to be put out. You keep your friends close, like Molly Jackson here, also a town newcomer (dancer), but you keep your enemies even closer, like the fire department. Soon everyone would know her burning desire for stardom. She would set the night sky ablaze with rockets’ red glare.

Molly had designs on wealth and stardom herself, but not with a fiery dress; instead: cool and calm and collected. She would bid her time in the shadows of the police station and attached department, blue replacing red. She would dance to the tunes of white Guy Lombardo but only after midnight and on the dark side of the moon. The situation seemed to call for it. She got up off the couch formerly shared with red garbed Elisa and moves to the window to stare out between the two stars just below toward both departments, considering balance.

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green beret

The handle on the library’s door flickering in and out, indicating irreality.

He knew what needed to be done. Alysha had already left, having to start her shift in the castle’s “core”. Rumor has it she was also a dancer in disguise, going by the name of Francis Wagner. If so, she twirled on yin-yang and did it well, or so they say.

He’d met her (in disguise himself) over on one of the levels below the club, selling sushi. “Two please,” he said, trying to blend in. She saw through it, being a masquerader herself. “Brend,” she said in return. “I didn’t recognize you without my hat on.”

The second “Two”, was strangely different from the first, as if foreign text had just floated in from the sky to roost on the various pages.

He felt his world turn upside down.

It was about time to play the piano to let off steam.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0305, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Nautilus^^, Rooster's Peninsula, Upper Austra^

Ten

He gets close enough to where he can’t miss.

—–

“Aw mann.”

“No mann’s from you, young’n,” replies Duncan Avocado to the boy’s protest. “You’ve got to go back to Aunt Clare for a spell. Just until I can figure out a plot to this here photo-novel.”

“But… you’re such a good cook!” George thinks back to the ice. And snow. The crunching. He could lose a tooth this time. ‘Nother one!

“Remember to pack some extra coats. November now. On the other side of the chasm schism, there’s Tennessee. Perpetual snow.

“I *hate* snow!” Certainly sounds like a boy of 10 now. Unless he’s 13. We’ll get to a picture in a moment to properly see and deduce.

“Besides,” Duncan attempts to rationalize. “Your Aunt Clare needs you — she gets lonely, out in those granite hills.

“I’ll have to get some shoes,” George continues to complain. “I *hate* shoes.”

“Now, now,” Duncan tries to calm. “Most boys don’t have your luck in the first place to move to warm climates when they choose. Scratchy just happens to be as far south on this continent as you can get. It’s warmer than everywhere else. You’ll return soon enough. Think of Clare — think of *others*.”

“I *hate* thinking of others.” Duncan gives up. There’ll be tomorrow for more coaxing; maybe the boy will age by then.

(to be continued)

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spikey

“We’ve got to keep an eye out on that [black guy] walking over there, Virus.”

“Rrrrrrr–rough!”

“Good boy.

—–

“Just black and white,” The Mann determined about some lips in another 0117 post to end. “No pink.”

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Scratchy 02

“What does it mean, W?”

“You’re such a funny person, asking so many questions.”

“Stairway to Heaven, I’m guessing. End of Up(pelin).”

“So many…”

——

Anyway, this was Heaven, White as.

Better get back to George.

—–

*There* it is (!)

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breakthrough

—–

White as Heaven, he stood at the open door on the back of the windmill, watching from a distance. Black, he determined. And probably red as well. He should join them, make his presence known. What does he have to hide *now*?

He quickly hides his red hand from observation, a medical condition but also blood. Our Duncan Avocado. He was also looking for something. He’d lost his cap, perhaps in the woods. He was scratching his head, wondering where it went, but then realized this exposed his weakness to the white guy up the hill. He’s also on something, as in onto something. A box. Could this be… Borneo?

As the white guy approached, he thinks back to Scratchy (sim) and another weakness exposed. The inability to keep track of the one thing in life he is responsible for: George. “White as Heaven” was there. He had some advice to dispense. “You’ve been working on the railroad. I can tell (by your hands).”

Was it a labor of love? he thought after the brief conversation was over. Bart might know. If he wasn’t dead as well.

“Go to the Red,” the white guy essentially commanded. The Old White Lady did. Your *ma*.

He somehow got stuck in the windmill on his way over. Back to square one.

Later: Duncan’s soup disappeared and he knew he was in trouble.

(to be continued)

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Scratchy

“Oh… I’m full Duncan. I can’t eat another bite of this delicious yet weighty soup. So tasty, though.” He picks up his spoon from beside his empty bowl, intending to have at it again.

“I didn’t bring you here just to give you some of Sally’s leftovers. I brought you here to…” He paused.

“Yes?” George was digging out what he considered the best chunks now from the tureen (deep covered dish). Almost done.

“Talk about *us*.”

George starts eating. Not too fast… he wants to savor the flavor. Aunt Clare taught him that. But he was tired of snow or snow derived meals. Give him something crunchy but not with ice in it! “Well… go ahead,” he says between bites. “So good,” he reinforces.

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Stan Gunderson

He came in on a tulip plane from Maebaleia (continent), vowing never to return. “Black and white tv’s,” he complained to the airline reservation agent whose name he didn’t catch and then regretted it later. Raspberry colored, she was, at least in dress — complete with seeds, ha. An idea is planted. A secret revealed. “Greyscale, even — that’s the name of the *leader* for Christs sake.” He’d received a free ticket to the capital city of the South from his cousin Vinnie. He should call him — right here and now at the airport — give him a piece of his mind about the recommended vacation spot. No *wonder* the lout gave up his ticket, he thought. Nothing there but chickens. And worse!

Only much later would he learn that Maebaleia is the same as Satori, and that he’d neglected to visit the much nicer North in his travel. Vinnie provided him with another free ticket — even went with him this time to make sure he didn’t stray too far south. They stood on the edge of the Guy Linden owned Gangkhar Rabbit Hole and marveled at its unicorn nature. Once there were two such things, on either side of X-City, King city of the north. For the king had risen again to compliment his southern queen. The black menace with two protruding round ears still hung in the sky but they’d learned to make peace with it by eliminating capitalism. Communism or at least Marxism has its advantages.

“Mae Baleia. My name is Mae,” she said more distinctly through her thick (Russian?) accent when he returned this time. *That’s* where the confusion all started. This gall darn agent (!).

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baby band

Clothing challenged, lawn mowing Jacobia was stuck, unable to press forward on her own.

So she decided to put on a few more clothes and join another progressive rock group, this time *not* starting with a G, or at least only the letter itself being referred to this go around. The G-Spots were born, half black, half white, all Basterds after naturally evolving into a punk band. Okay then, let’s go with The Basterds, since The Bastards is obviously taken and also the Basturds. And The Bastords doesn’t make much sense, and neither does the Bastirds. Hmmm… Bastirds.

When I spoke to Jacobia about it she said that (the name) Bastirds was silly and that they would go with G-Spots, except spell it Gee Spots, like a frisky gee cat she knew growing up in Paper-Soap. Anita (lead guitarist) agreed, and so did Stig (keyboardist) and Dirk (bassist). The band hit all the right notes, just like during good sex. After acquiring drummer Peter Sun (formerly Mitch Peterson) to complete the quintet, their first gig proper was in front of a tunnel playing to a disinterested crowd wondering why their train went missin. They would move on to bigger and better.

 

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0601, Cassandra City^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Paper Soap, Soap

hues

“Okay, we’re definitely going to have to agree on a favorite colored tea before we get married. Here, let’s switch (*switch*).”

(*sip*) “Yuuuuck!”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to have to rethink this relationship.”

(*huff*) “Fine with me (!).”

—–

“I think you definitely said 301 East Meeting.”

“I definitely did *not*. 103 I said. I wish I would have recorded it now. I need to record everything.”

“*Anyway*, we’re here. We found each other.”

“3 hours later!”

“Aren’t… aren’t you going to drink your tea?”

“I’m not drinking that stuff.”

—–

“Annny-wayyy. The low down on the plot so far. Spill it.”

Axis-Windmill then “accidentally” sloshed some tea out while raising his own glass to his mouth. “Oooops.”

“Funny,” Percy said while watching it penetrate his duster coat sleeve, turning himself slightly green. Percy’s lone color remained red like her own untouched tea, as in controlling heart red. At least it’s not in (or on) her head. she often thinks. Speaking of which…

“You’re a funny boy,” she reinforced. “A funny funny boy.”

The green kept coming. “More than I expected!”

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